New Faces: A Paradox
by StoryBookGhoolies
Summary: Red Hood needs no-one. Jason Todd on the other hand? Loneliness isn't quite something Batman's estranged son was expecting upon his return. Still, it's just inspecting what's become of the Bat Family in his absence. ...Right?


**A/N: Um...Happy New Year? This is coming a tad later than I intended, but boredom overcame me and I had a sudden urge to delve back into the wonderful world of Batman, something that's entertained me since childhood. Oh and maybe I recently caught up with Red Hood and the Outlaws Volume 2? I'm still shocked I'm loving it considering what a bad taste Vol. 1 left in my mouth...**

 **Mostly this is just introspective Jason Todd watching the Bat Family upon his return to the streets of Gotham post-resurrection. Jason and his neverending angst are always some fun for me; as cynicism is something I relate well to (being such a miserable twat myself sometimes). I'm afraid there isn't that much daring mystery, intrigue or gratuitous violence - it's more or less just Red Hood's conflict in how his return has bought about a new loneliness he's finding hard to handle. Oh Jason...it will get better, I promise! Now you've got Bizzaro and Artemis flanking you - so you've done well boy!**

 **All the DC characters present are not my property. I'm just creatively exploring them in new ways and earning no money (not that it'd last long knowing me).**

 **This is gifted to Ash! She's had a bit of a difficult time recently so I wanted to cheer her up with some writing involving Jason and her OC!**

 **Lilith 'Lily' Madill/Crescent & Abigail Fries/Miss Freeze are my own fair property - so for once I can take some credit for something! Nothing else canon though, I sadly must relent...**

 **The wonderful Anne Valentine/Whirlwind is property of the amazingly talented Secretly-A-Fangirl! I can take no credit for her brilliance!**

 **Silver Spur/Magda Bacarri is the creation of my impeccably dressed, glowingly lovely and artistically gifted best friend, Izzy - so again, no credit here!**

* * *

Nostalgia was never good when envy seeped into it.

Part of Jason almost felt guilty. It felt disturbingly similar to the old crime bosses he'd scuffled with - sad hasbeens still wanting to live in a deluded fantasy world where they were shiny and fresh; a raging new blight upon the streets of Gotham once more. When in sad actuality they were nothing more special that crumbled up movie tickets. Grim fragments of something once acclaimed and adored; now looked upon with sympathy soaked fondness or quick breathed mocking.

Tailing Bruce's new recruits had been reasoned away as therapeutic when he'd first set ou. Even then he'd firmly crafted a back up lie to ease his uncertainty - the Bat Family had changed its roaster, and if he wanted to continue his streak of remaining a good few steps ahead of them, every member needed to be carefully studied and scrutinized, so the cracks in their neatly polished facade's could be honed in on.

So far though, whatever strategies had been half-formed in his brain had given away to the flood of emotion - jealousy swirling with longing and curiosity. It was a heady mixture, one Jason was struggling to stay afloat within. How often he wished he could be more like Fries - embody her brilliant display of nonchalance and total single mindedness. But he wasn't a kid science prodigy, and his rages had never been easy to tamper with. Even the Old Bat could vouch for that.

Watching them leap from rooftop to rooftop - a pair, carefully sticking close to one another - had caused his heart to squeeze tightly, shackles of loneliness strengthening their chains, isolation's vice even harder to ignore. Even amongst his own people you could never feel truly at peace. Freeze and Spur not knowing which familiar face was obscured by the crimson mask; Annie left at peace to continue whatever new code she'd chosen to live by; underlings a mixture of fear and self-preservation, not the sorts of company he'd want to keep if you'd paid him. The Bat Family - it's innocent embrace a half-kindled fire scrabbling at the strings of a detached heart - called to him upon seeing the two of them.

The girl was older, that'd become obvious early on, even if she was the smaller of the two. Crescent, that was the codename she'd picked out for herself; and the alias had caused Jason's temples to sting. So his codename was worthless enough to be passed onto whatever next orphan Bruce picked up off the poisoned streets but Batgirl was precious enough to remain singularly connotated to Barbara? Of course it was.

Lily appeared to be the girl's actual identity; he'd heard it fleetingly shouted throughout the quiet of the early morning skies, followed by a series of desperate hushings (' _Gee Tim, why don't you scream that a little louder? I'm sure Riddler's dying to know who my home address!'_ ). Her treacle coloured hair had been bound back into a ponytail, with matching dual braids lining her scalp, clearly to keep excess hair tendrils away from her face; heart-shaped and rosy cheeked, with a dimple gracing her mouth's right hand corner whenever she smiled. If her eyes weren't a bright minty green or her skin as nicely peachy, ears slightly too big, prone to such a delighted grin, and not such a small height (5'1" was Jason's best guess) - although still not quite as comically miniature as Magda remained - she would've had a better chance at being genuinely intimidating.

She wore a half-moon shaped mask pushed sideways over her eyes - hence the inspired codename - and her costume was a mixture of grey, black and silver shades. The mask was the darkest grey, still not quite passable for black, and complimented the light ashiness of her upper suit well. The hood wasn't properly clipped on - considering she pushed it back easily enough on multiple occasions - and extended outwards into a longer pearly coat. Streaks of silver glimmered in asymmetric lines up the arms and fell round into the bust, matching the sheen of her knee high boots. Black leggings were underneath the bodice, worn under the grey leotard the coat covered, the lightest tone considerably, appearing an off-white under minuscule lighting. Topped off with the fingerless gloves and matching dual mini-scythes clipped on her wrists - tips deliberately dulled, but hey, creativity; he supposed she was a decent enough pseudo-Batgirl.

His replacement - Timothy Drake - was considerably less original. No doubt Bruce had forced the poor boy into replicating the traditional Robin aesthetic pushed onto him after all the successes it'd bought Grayson. There were minor changes of course - enough to convince the wearer it wasn't just a replication of the same unfortunate mantle - with how the scheme appeared to have omitted the traditional green this time around, instead putting more emphasis upon the red, black and yellow shades.

Long black cape - the same design fit to elegantly billow when caught up by the wind; histrionically reflective of Bruce's own infamous garb - accompanied by a red blazer, the 'R' sigil a sunshine yellow surrounded by a black circle, and a black bodysuit placed underneath this, stuffed into a pair of scuffed up combat boots. The sleeves didn't fully connect with the ebony gloves, leaving tanned skin on display. Even from the distance, a few nicks and bruises stood out amongst the sea of bronzed flesh; gaudy pinks and bright mauve's not properly faded yet - miniature battle scars no doubt the boy was secretly proud of. And why shouldn't he be? He was Robin. The latest Boy Wonder in Bruce Wayne's privatised surrogate son factory production line. A shining beacon of youthful hope, praised for bravery beyond his years by the dull witted citizens too blind to realise the true ego-fuelled hypocrisy that fed their shadowy 'protector'. Dark Knight - the title was laughable. Jason pitied the boy for the day he too would be ushered off to the Teen Titans and replaced with whatever unfortunate charity case Bruce had stumbled upon.

At least Grayson had found solace in the arms of Starfire, a princess nonetheless, disgustingly befitting of Richard's own blinding good nature; and her kindness was flanked by the likes of Roth, Logan and Stone, who'd proven themselves to be true, dear friends. He supposed he'd always had Annie and Abigail.

But now what? They both thought of him as dead, and Fries would never forgive him when the lie emerged. After her father's transition and mother's illness she'd been hurt too much. How was he any better than Ferris Boyle in that sense? Promising her something whilst setting her up to fail...

There was a slight chance she wouldn't hate him, instead pity him for the mess he'd become. And some days, that kept Jason going.

As for Annie, she could never know he was back. It wasn't fair dragging her into his world of vengeance and despairing. He'd done enough damage with that fatal mistake of tracking down his birth mother - believing she'd accept him and cherish him. When what? She'd turned him over to Joker. Anne's fleeting hope in her own father couldn't be crushed. It wasn't Jason's right to take that away. And from all he'd seen, Dorian Valentine had shown more genuine compassion and love than Sheila Haywood had perhaps ever been capable of without the Joker's hissing. The Red Hood could only be a symbol, and one kept away from those Jason cared about; those he loved. It was easier this way, remaining isolated amongst a sea of allies.

It stopped him from truly becoming like Bruce - a sham savior to those who needed understanding.

The youthful innocence present in Tim Drake - his tanned complexion; shock of raven dark hair, tousled around his youthful face (not quite as rounded as Crescent's, but with a slightly more babyish wide eyed element, particularly obvious whenever he smiled); glimmer in those sapphire eyes (a great deal lighter than the murky cerulean of Jason's) that bursted with life and hopeful intellect - made his torn up heart ache with longing.

A desperate impulse to rush back into the arms of the family he now so desperately wanted to reject.

Dick now Nightwing, trying his own hand at being an independent hero, off on adventures with his fiance, banishing crime from the rest of America, proving that - despite the blight of Jason's own demise - Batman's recruits could make successes of themselves.

Barbara now Oracle, crippled at the hands of the Joker but still working alongside Bruce, using her knowledge and savviness to discover information from the safety of the Bat Cave their mentor couldn't be running back to every five minutes.

Abi and Magda - despite still going by the codenames he'd grown used to - efficient social warriors; dangerous and accomplished. The highest standing members of his newly founded order. His personal doctor and chief of security. Proof even dysfunctional teenagers with their libertarian class-demolishing plans could transition into true forces to be reckoned with.

And looking upon Timothy Drake and Lilith Madill his mind wandered back into the frey of Anne.

Of course, they were far more playful and sweetened; there wasn't a single glimmer of romance between them - what with how Madill would shoot Drake an unimpressed look whenever he overstepped a boundary and they'd bicker like a petty older sister and younger brother whenever one perceived excess risk had been taken in battle. It wasn't even the age gap that seemed to state this, more their natural easy stepping into sibling rivalry and affection - but that closeness was something Jason found himself craving ever more potently.

Could he speak to Annie? Convince her he was back? That...death had merely been a hindrance in the path life had placed Jason Todd upon?

What would he say? What _could_ he say?

There was both everything and nothing that needed to be conveyed. A hazy barrage of emotion and longing he feared would be overwhelming, suffocating even. Like the isolation he'd pushed himself into...

"Hood?"

Jason almost fell off the ledge as Fries' voice crackled over the com fixtured into the helmet. She sounded somewhat bored, and it made him want to laugh. Surveillance had never been something for Abigail - unless it related to scientific pursuits.

"Yep?" He hoped his faux casual would persuade her to not question him. Still even that couldn't be guaranteed.

Miss Freeze hated not knowing things - seemed to come with the genius territory - and his evasive true name was beginning to grate on her. Biting the bullet seemed seductive next to receiving one of her unimpressed glowers at continued resistance. It was one of the things he'd come to both love and hate about the woman.

"You're needed back here. Some arms dealer - Fernando Gomez - has shown up and is demanding he speak to you and you alone." She sighed then, and he could almost imagine those navy eyes rolling. Entitlement never settled well amongst Gotham's true supervillains.

"He'll be here about the Smilex-"

"Smilex?" Fries echoed, unease now laced in with the boredom. "Hood, you've boycotted Joker's private laughing juice? What the fuck are you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous Smilex is when not handled carefully-"

"That's why I've got you then, isn't it?" Jason didn't even try and hold back sounding terribly fond. It was difficult, and - after subsequent obvious favoritism - passive disinterest had been long abandoned.

"What about Gomez?" Was all he got in reply to the compliment. If she'd rolled her eyes at that one, Jason would never know. "How quick can you make it back?"

"Ten minutes."

"I should probably ice him then. They tend to get antsy when you cut it over three."

"Don't do any permanent damage Freeze. We need a couple of them left alive to let the other traders know I'm not taking bullshit."

"Sure."

She clicked off then, and Jason's eyes returned to Crescent and Robin. They were sat on the ledge of their own roof, talking animatedly about something, oblivious to his presence. As it should have been. Even if he hadn't needed to split, the behavior was trademark. The Bat'd be there soon, and Bruce wasn't one to miss the likes of onlookers. It was best to go before he was forced into an actual confrontation. Punching a fourteen year old seemed a little extreme, even for him.

Still, it didn't cease his mind racing as he stood, quietly racing towards the edge of the rooftop, readying himself to plunge downwards into the swell of the night air and immerse himself back in the role of Crime Boss.

 _He'd go pay Anne Valentine a visit tomorrow...do something about that bad case of loneliness..._


End file.
